


Blood Spilled

by GothamsFinest



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothamsFinest/pseuds/GothamsFinest
Summary: T'Challa was adjusting to his reign as King. Killmonger was banished from Wakanda and needed help finding his place amongst the stars. Neither realized that their war was just beginning. T'Challa/OC/Killmonger.





	1. Chapter 1

He really had to travel to the boonies of Bolivia just to find her.

A crackle of lightening lit the black sky. Instantly Erik Killmonger recognized her from the wanted photos he'd seen on the news. She sat beneath a tattered canopy that wobbled beneath the whipping wind. He was certain the poles keeping it in place would uproot if the wind hit it hard enough.

He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie a little tighter and did a quick jog over to her. The humidity mixed with the rampage of hot rain mixed with the stank of pig shit made it impossible to draw proper breaths. This woman better have been worth the trouble of finding.

"Mind if I sit?" Erik nodded to the open space on the picnic table beside her. He joined her atop the wooden rectangle regardless of what answer she may have given. He eyed the bottle of Don Julio in her hand. "We drinking to kill the pain or are we celebrating?"

She kept quiet.

He didn't take the obvious message. "Can't say I blame you for enjoying the solitude. We never get this type of quiet back-"

"My answer is no." She took a swig from the bottle of alcohol that was three quarters of the way done. He could barely see her through the thick abundance of curls framing her face, but he could identify the annoyance in her low voice. "Now kindly fuck off."

"It don't work like that." He appreciated that she was direct. Small talk was for awkward white people. "I got mud on my huaraches. You're gonna listen to me."

"Blah blah blah I need you to help me blah blah blah join me in some cockamamie bullshit blah blah blah let's save the day." She gave a dry laugh at the end. "Sound about right?"

"Don't tell me I didn't get to you first," he said. "Let me guess, Nick Fury?"

"He was second in line. You're number seven."

"Damn," he said. "Lucky me."

"Now's the part where you offer me money right? That's what Stark did. Came in with his stuffy three piece suit and his smarmy attitude," she hiccuped. "Acted like the world owed him something."

"Money? Nah, I'm not going to offer you that." The value of a dead president didn't compare to everything she could have if she just said yes to him. "But I can secure you a seat at the throne."

There was a pause before she broke into cackles that echoed in the dark and rumbled like thunder. Tequila was wasted onto the dirt ground as she couldn't control her body that flailed with every laugh. She thought him a fool. If only she knew how serious he was being.

"I gotta get the fuck outta here." Her bare feet sunk into the mud as she stood. "You killing the vibe."

"Think it over for me."

"You see them doors right there." She pointed to the small hotel Erik learned she'd been hiding out in. "As soon as I go through that door right there, I'm gonna forget this conversation ever happened. That's a certified promise. And if I ever see you again, you'll regret it. If you tell anyone you saw me, I'm fucking you up."

Her promises meant nothing to him. The world already thought him dead. He didn't want to risk outing himself anymore than she did. Rather than tell her that he kept still – watched the rain cleanse the earth. He wasn't going to beg her to stay or follow her. They'd be seeing each other again. Regardless of her threats.

"You be careful out there," he said. "Be sure not to get the chip on your shoulder wet."

Rain soaked through her sundress as she made her way to leave him in the middle of nowhere. Erik watched the way she walked. It wasn't graceful by any means. Chin up, squared off shoulders that were pulled back, she was a warrior. Hard and rough. Good.

"I ain't looking to save the world." He called out to her. "I want to start a war."

She cocked her head in his direction. "What's your name?"

He smiled and tossed the hood off his head. Finally he had her attention. "Erik Killmonger."


	2. Element.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killmonger gets himself into a fight.

The snap of bone. A cry of agony. Blood and sweat now stained the cement ground. My opponent is no more. Knocked the fuck out. A hollow sack of skin clinging to what little life he still has left. The underground fighting rings in Bolivia were small and lacking in actual competition.

“Somebody give me my fucking ransom,” I shouted. “And a beer. _Ahora!_ ”

My name became a mantra on the tongues of the crowd. A mighty roar. Their stomps and howls thundered against my skin. Through my smile, I could taste blood and victory. I spit a crimson glob to the floor and raised a fist in the air. I won. Of course I fucking won.

“You like that, huh? Exaltation.” Killmonger emerged from the crowd that encircled me and joined me in it's epicenter. My blood burned at the sight of him. “Exaltation is the wrong word, 'cause honestly, this shit looking a little small scale to me.”

“You _would_ know about small wouldn't you?”

“C'mere and see for yourself.”

“Why are you here?”

“I'm here to play scrabble, why you think I'm here?” He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it to the crowd. They fought over what I'm sure was an expensive garment. His linen shirt came off next. Keloids covered his torso. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't scarred. I'm sure that shit had meaning, whether culturally or symbolically, but if we were being honest. I didn't fucking care. “I'm here to fight.”

A hook and a jab sent him staggering backwards, allowing me some time to isolate myself. He reached a hand up to his nose and when he pulled it back he was nothing but smiles. Blood coated his fingers.

“There's the woman I'm looking for,” he laughed. Reaching down to the the front of his jeans, he unfastened his belt. He pulled it from the loops seamlessly and wrapped a portion around his fist. The glint of the dangling buckle caught my eye. “Daddy gotta take off his belt just for you.”

The taste of metal and leather licked across my face. I stumbled back, and touched where the belt had collided with my cheek. A hot welt was already beginning to spread. “Did you just fucking hit me in the face with a belt?”

“Don't worry,” he offered me his lop sided grin. “I ain't finished tappin' that ass.”

The belt cracked against my ribs. It felt like lightning had struck into my abs. Not allowing me a chance to cry out in pain from the lash, he whipped the belt towards my face again. I shielded myself with my forearm. The belt wrapped around my flesh like a cobra. One hard yank and Killmonger was pulled towards me. Our eyes locked. We were close enough that the scent of his bloody nose was as fragrant to me as a rose. He managed to utter the first few syllables of what I sure was a smarmy ass comment, but he was interrupted by my forehead smashing into his nose.

He released the belt to nurse what I was sure was now a broken nose. I tossed it to a crowd hungry for one of our deaths. “Is that all you got, Killmonger?”

He charged at me full force. I braced myself for a tackle, but instead his foot almost connected into my head. I dodged the kick in the nick of time and tried to counter with an elbow to his neck. He caught my arm and I knew I had fucked up. Both his arms linked around my waist and hoisted me from the ground. He slammed me hard against the concrete.

My head cracked hard into the ground. Black haunted my vision for several seconds. A whistle rang in my ear like a flatline. When color began seeping back into my vision, the room was teeter tottering in slow motion.

“Did that hurt, Othello?” Killmonger's taunts were all I could hear as if they were my own thoughts. The bass in his voice was lost and was replaced with breathlessness. He panted into the crook of my neck. I could feel the racing of his heart pound against my own. He used his body weight to keep me pressed to the ground without room to escape. I saw through that shit. He was stalling. He needed time to catch his wind. “Let me make that better.”

His free hand grabbed onto my throat and silenced the scream I wanted to give.I reached for his eyes and clawed at his face. I could feel his skin collect beneath my nails. I used the opportunity to roll him onto his back and regain the upper hand.

“You giving up?” I grunted. My blood dropped onto his face in splatters.

His fingers dug into my hips and held me in place on top of him. “Nah. I like working you out.”

“ _Empate!”_ the fight promoter's voice hung high above the crowds bellows. Within seconds two men separated us. Both our hands were raised in the air and for the first time since I entered Bolivia, I heard the crowd boo. It was a draw.

“Fuck the rules,” I spat. If any fight went over the allotted ten minutes it would be considered a tie. That was bullshit. Fights didn't end until someone gave up or left in a garbage bag. “We're not finished.”

“Let the man do his job.” He extended his hand for me to shake. He must've been crazy. At least he looked the part. The pretty boy exterior was six feet under and was replaced by something savage. His body dripping with red, his lip was busted and one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut.

Against everything inside of me I took his hand. He fought well and I wasn't a hater.

“Good shit.” He pulled me into a hug and he kissed the top of my head. Instantly I regretted ever showing him an ounce of decency. “Let me get you that beer.”

 


	3. Powerglide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deals get made!

 

Killmonger followed Othello into the tiny bathroom of the local bar. It was grimy, cramped and reeked of piss but it would have to do.

He looked at his reflection and cursed to himself. Blood was leaking from his nose nonstop and the middle of his bridge was doing some weird crooked shit. Goddammit it was broken.

"I see you." He smiled as their eyes met through the mirror. She gave him her usual bored and expressionless look as she pulled her shoulders in a deep stretch. Slowly he was beginning to learn that her attitude was permanently on stank. "What's up with the moniker, Othello? I get that you don't want the government on your back but why that?"

"We're not friends." She freed her unruly hair from the tie she kept it in and shook her curls loose.

"I'd like to be."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"N'Jadaka is my birth name. Erik came after my pops moved to the states."

"You're Wakandan. Figures." She reached beneath her tank top, hiking up the material. Along the surface of her brown skin were deep cuts and wounds. She sucked in a breath and poured some of the tequila he'd bought her onto her flesh. "This whole overthrowing thing is just a penis swinging contest."

"That ain't no contest, sweetheart," He splashed water on his face and watched the red swirl down the drain. "Your turn. Let's not be strangers. Why the name?"

"I like Shakespeare."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Thanks for sharing," he said. "I need a napkin."

She didn't move from her position against a wall. Instead she folded her arms and kept their eyes locked. They could've battled to the death and she still was going to challenge him every fucking step of the way.

"Please?" With the addition of his forced politeness, she pulled a few brown napkins from the dispenser extended them to him. He snatched the napkins from her hand and cleaned the last remnants of blood from his face. "Is everything a struggle with you?"

"Sure is," she said, taking a gulp of from the bottle of alcohol.

"Good. It makes things interesting," he said. "Last woman I worked with went along with everything I said. But that's what good D does to women. You know how y'all get."

"Thanks for the drink."

He stopped her from dipping out, holding his arm across the exit. Her neck snapped back and her eyebrow raised.

"Move."

"Nah."

"You want me to smash this bottle over your head?"

He reached out and cupped her face with his hand. She may have needed her rough edges smoothed out, but she was still beautiful. "You want me to smash you?"

Her fingers dug into either sides of his noise. He gripped her arms and tried prying her off him, but before he could throw her to the other side of the room it was too late. She popped the cracked bone in his nose back into place. He doubled over, gripping his face while her laughter bounced off the bathroom walls.

"You're welcome," she laughed. "Consider that my only time helping you out. And look, I did it for free. Who said mercenaries lacked generosity?"

"Thanks." He snorted and blood cleared from his sinuses. "I'll give you a night to rethink my deal. If by tomorrow you don't want to do it I'll dead all this. You'll never see me again."

"You don't have to bother. My answer is no." She pushed through the bathroom door and left him to himself. "I don't care about Wakanda."

He chased after her without a second thought. If she was going to turn him down, he at least wanted to know why. He needed her help and he wasn't going to take a simple no for an answer.

"All that time Wakanda hid in the shadows, they could've been helping us out." he said once he caught up by her side as she walked along the empty streets of La Paz.

"You really don't quit, huh?"

"And now they're offering aid to the same people that colonized their brother and sister countries. That doesn't piss you off?"

T'Challa may have thought he was doing good by sharing resources with the United Nations, but it was risky and left Wakanda open for attack. His naïve cousin was handling Wakanda carelessly. Africa should've been the first the to receive help before a Caucasian hand ever laid eyes on vibranium. At least Erik had the respect for the culture to kill Klaue. .

"Nope." She shrugged. "Politics ain't my thing."

"So that's it? You don't care about the uplifting of your people-"

"Wakanda is _your_ homeland. Your people, not mine."

"Last time I check we're all the same to them." He pointed to the outside world, but he knew Othello got the picture. "I don't think geological birthplaces matter. Black skin is all they see."

"There's no DNA test in the world that can trace my roots back to the country my bloodline originated. My shit starts with whatever white man raped my ancestors." She had every right to be bitter. Erik wasn't going to take that away from her. But her views were limited and overall damaging to overcoming the struggle. "So no, I don't want to be a part of your throne, I don't want to overtake the throne, and I don't want to watch the throne. You know what I want, solitude. Quiet. Peace of mind."

"Then I can get you that," he reassured. It didn't really matter to him what the hell she wanted, a seat at the table was strictly him trying to be civil. He'd sell her anything he could if that meant getting her help. "I can get your files exonerated."

"Liar." Her eyes widened. "You can do that? A clean start?" 

"I put that on my pops," he said. "Help me out and I'll make you invisible."

"If you're lying to me-"

"I get it. That shit sounds too good to be true and you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either if I were you. But just like I'm putting my faith in you to get a job done, I need you to put that same trust in me. It's called teamwork. Ain't no Jordan without Pippen."

"Fine," she spat. "But I am not your underling, I don't follow your rules and I don't answer to you. You tell me what you want done and I'll do it. I ain't nobody's Scotty. I'm LeBron. You can be my Kyrie. "

"Damn. At least can we be Kobe and Shaq?"

"Then you have a deal." She outstretched her hand.

"To be honest I'm more of a hugger."

"You want me to renege? Because-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I play too much." He grinned and tossed his arm over her shoulder. Goddamn his body ached. She did him in good. "I'm just happy. It's about to be a revolution because of you."

"Just tell me who I need to kill."

"That's what the fuck I like to hear." His plans were coming along smoothly. "You're gonna have a lot of fun with this one."


	4. SUU WHOOP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Panther and Othello meet.

_Oakland, California._

T'Challa never imagined hearing the screams of children overtake the walls of the Outreach Center. He looked to his sister and before either could begin to formulate a thought, the quake of gunshots followed. He gripped Shuri's hand and guided her beneath the open space of his desk.

“I will go see what this is about,” he kept his voice as calm as he could and attempted to diminish the fear bouncing in his sister's eyes. He could feel the pounding of her pulse against his fingers like the beat of a djembe. “Stay here. I will lock the door and you will be in no danger.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Say nothing and open the door for no one.”

“Be careful.”

How inopportune of a moment it was of him to realize how small his office was. No escape exits. No emergency button beneath his desk to press if there was ever a moment where they were under attack. A moment like this. How foolish the design was.

His run to the door was halted by another gunshot. The glass door shattered into a million tiny crystals right before his eyes. Landing on the floor with the glass was Mya, the on duty receptionist. Mya sobbed, clutching her hands that'd become sliced from the impact. “The King won't be taking anymore calls for the day,” came a feminine roar. T'Challa saw the blunt butt of the shotgun before he saw the woman responsible for the intrusion. Her true appearance remained a mystery. Her physique was clad in all black and covering her face was... a toy Black Panther mask meant for a costume party. A mask meant for those who idolized and respected what he stood for was now being used to ridicule him. “Now leave, before I actually give you a reason to cry.”

Mya scrambled to her feet, unable to control her whimpers as she ran for somewhere to T'Challa as she headed for somewhere safe.

Glass crunched beneath the assailant's combat boots as she made her way into his office. She paused when she was just a few steps away from him and cocked her head to the side. Though T'Challa couldn't see it, he knew a nasty smirk would be visible on the assailant's face if he pulled off her mask. The thought of it was enough to heat his blood. How someone could enjoy the murder of innocents, let alone children, pounded the need for justice and vengeance through his body.

“Who are you?” he asked. He did his best to dull his anger. He needed to remain calm. Not only for himself, but for Shuri's sake.

She laughed. “Why, I am de Black Pantha,” she mocked with a hideous attempt at his accent. “Leeda of dee naytion of Wakanda. Token negro superhero of dee western hemisphere.”

“Children are in this building. Innocent children who have nothing to do with whatever vendetta you have against me.”

“Really? I didn't notice,” she said as calmly as stating the weather.

“How many people have you injured?”

“None so far. Those were warning shots you heard. Had to show you I wasn't bullshitting. I'm here only for you, but if you don't do exactly what I say, I don't mind getting innocent bystander blood on your new carpet.”

“What is it that-”

“Peeee-yew,” she screeched clutching her masked nose. “You smell that? I smell a rat.” She pointed her shotgun directly where Shuri was concealed. Instinctively, T'Challa took a step over to protect his sister. He reached for the vibranium claws of his necklace but stopped once she cocked her shotgun.

“Don't show me your pussy just yet.” She took another step in his direction. This time with the barrel of the gun inches from his face. “Who the fuck else is in here?”

“Only you and myself.”

“Let's not start this relationship off with lies. If it's one thing I cannot stand, it's a lying tongue. Whoever is behind the desk come out before I shoot your King in the head and paint tribal designs on your face using his brain matter.”

“Stop, please!” Shuri disobeyed his orders and revealed herself. His back was to her, but he could see his assailant's black eyes dart to her direction. He thought about disarming her, but fear of what could've happened to his sister during the struggle rendered him incapable. He couldn't lose another family member. No more of their blood would be spilled onto his hands. “Whatever it is you want, take it and leave. Just don't hurt my brother.”

“Interesting.” Her head cocked to the side. “My employer wanted the King and his know-it-all sister dead. What he failed to mention... was that you were a kid. Shuri, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well aren't you just a big bundle of black girl magic. Leave. I can still smell the finest of Wakandan titty milk on your breath. Two years saved your life.”

The intruder held a code – for that he was grateful. Finally he could breathe.

“What about-”

“Shuri!” T'Challa called out. “Go!”

Silence remained until only T'Challa and the woman stood within the rubble of her mayhem. Seconds may have fleeted away, but the energy between their locked eyes only intensified. Behind her gaze was only a steely coldness. No emotion. No light. Just the hardness of a killer. Perhaps now was the best time to strike and subdue her.

“T'Challa of Wakanda.” The tone of her voice switched dramatically. No longer was it laced with venom and animosity, but had now become hush and tranquil. “What do you have of value that will persuade me not to kill you?”

The arrogance of her words. It was foolish of her to consider their battle already predetermined. “You expect me to negotiate for my life?” Surely this was a joke.

“Yes, in fact I do.”

“Brokering with a serial killer-”

“Serial killer? That's cute.”

“Is it an unwise assumption?”

“I could've shot you in the face the moment I came in. There's a building six blocks away that has a perfect view of your office through the scope of a M24. In my pocket is a bowie knife, no David. If I wanted you dead, you'd be in the morgue by now so take advantage of this privilege.”

He did just that.With his left arm he pushed the gun from his face. The bookshelf behind him exploded from a bullet that almost struck him dead. Another shot rang in his ear and rattled against his brain like a mallet to a gong. Through their struggle her weapon fell to floor and T'Challa knew now was the moment to capitalize. She reached for the knife she warned him of and as she did so he clutched his necklace.

His panther habit manifested around him, cloaking him in some of the finest armor his homeland had to offer. The murderer took cautionary steps away from him. He could make out the whites of her eyes. Pages from novels that once aligned the decimated bookcase now cascaded throughout the room, coating the floor with a blanket of literature.

“Impressed?” he quipped.

“Very. Someone told me you'd be fun and fun you are.” She toyed with the knife in her hand. “Let's play.”

He expected her to lunge forward. To attempt a strike. Instead, she took off running – out the door, and down the hall. She was fast, abnormally so. Unsheathing his claws, he began the chase after her. This was a game of cat and mouse, one of predator and prey, and he was unsure which title he possessed.

 


	5. Nothing Was the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa meets someone from his past.

Our chase didn't last very long, nor did I expect it to. Running away from our fight was simply a tactic of stalling. If we were going to fight I needed to move some place quieter, some place out of sight in case the cops ever decided to show up. Unwarranted eyes were a no-go for me.

I trudged through the open roads of Oakland, dodging cars and an endless supply of unassuming civilians. T'Challa was scaling the rooftops of section eight houses as he followed my path. The motherfucker was fast. Quicker than I was, that's for sure. Which begged the question, why didn't he catch up with me and block my way? I wasn't a mouse for him to toy with. That's where he fucked up.

A secluded bando off the corner of Alcatraz street was our destination. It was a small home abandoned and adorned in graffiti. I kicked open the front door and was hit in the face with the reeking smell of aged piss. My feet stomped over rotten floorboards and heroin paraphernalia as I entered what one could only assume was the kitchen. I sunk into the confined space of where a refrigerator would occupy. I removed the pistol strapped to my thigh and cocked it. This would make a wonderful graveyard for a king.

“Do you intend on running forever, coward?” T'Challa pushed through the entry way of the uninhabited house. I searched for the sound of his footsteps, but found nothing but the soft hum of his voice. “Have your threats become empty?”

I answered with unloading a clip aimed directly between his eyes. Not a single bullet landed. My back found the edge of a counter and the grip I had on the trigger lessened. Each bullet bursted into a firework of amethyst light as he casually walked into them.

Killmonger never told me his suit could withstand the damage of guns.

“This just got a lot more interesting,” I panted. I'd been sent into the den of a lion with a blindfold on. I couldn't help but worry. What else was there to know about T'Challa that he didn't tell me. “You playing with cheat codes?”

I sent a few more bullets his way and watched the dust shack glow in a purple haze from the kinetic energy his suit harvested. Beneath the light his claws gleamed and he launched forward, ensuing a fight between us. I threw a barrage of attacks his way – none bothered him. He ate every single punch as if my fists were skittles.

Through our struggle T'Challa never struck me. Not once. As time progressed I figured out that he was playing defensively. He dodged and countered, but never attempted to land a hit no matter how many open opportunities came his way. It made me fight harder. Wilder. Every bit of anger I felt in my chest became a punch that did ultimately nothing. I could've screamed.

“Don't fucking do that.” I pushed him away from me. “Fight me like a man.”

“This doesn't have to end in bloodshed.”

“Like fuck it doesn't. I offered you a deal and you didn't take it.”

“Who are you?” he asked. “Take off your mask.”

I grabbed the blade in my pocket. If guns didn't work we could always try option B. “Try taking it off yourself. Let's see how that goes.”

“To quote someone-” He reached out to me and the damage was done before I could react. Talons clawed along my mask, tearing to shreds what I once used as a joke at his expense. “I could've done that the moment you came in.” He used my own words against me and my toy panther mask fell to the floor in ravaged pieces, unveiling my face.

T'Challa's expression changed. “Imani?” he questioned. “Is this where you've been hiding? In America? Killing people for sport.”

“Imani? You've got the wrong girl. Name's Othello.”

“Stop this nonsense, Imani. It's me,” he spoke and without haste his panther suit chipped away from his body, disintegrating into the air. He pressed one hand to his heart while he extended me his free one. It almost felt like I plea. Like if I accepted his hand in my own he would whisk me far away from all the troubles in the world. I didn't know whether to take it or stab him in the head. “Praise Bast, you're alive.”

A gun went off. One that didn't belong to me. T'Challa's eyes grew wide and his hands fell to the red stain expanding against the white of his dress shirt. He collapsed to the ground, revealing Killmonger behind him. In his hand was a pistol and on his face was a nasty grin.

“Time's up,” Killmonger said. “So much for you being the best of the best.”

I looked at the watch on my wrist. Shit. Thick black numbers revealed the time to be 2:30 on the nose which meant that Killmonger could intervene. It was a fine detail carved into his plan that I didn't think he'd have to utilize. Today had been full of surprises.

“I didn't know you were gonna sneak him. That's pussy.”

“Damn, I must've missed the part in our deal where it says that I should care what you think about me.”

“Sorry, I can't hear shit with your gun in my face. Lower it, Erik.”

“I'm thinking about it,” he sucked his teeth. “What's this shit I heard him say about you making a deal? I thought we had something.”

“You been here that long?”

“Long enough to know these hoes ain't loyal.”

“Really? You failed to mention that guns ain't work on his suit. That would've been helpful.”

After giving what I said some thought, he dropped his weapon. “Touche.”

“Who's Imani? He called me that, I'm sure you heard.”

“The King of Wakanda is bleeding out on the ground.” Killmonger nodded to T'Challa. He convulsed violently against the tiled floors. Gurgles formed as he attempted words. It was against everything I stood for, but somehow I felt badly for the fallen king. “I ain't got the answers.”

“You sure?”

“Sure like Al B.” His laugh subsided when he noticed he was the only one who found himself funny. “Goddamn. The only thing I think can kill you is a smile.”

“Pick him up,” I said. “Let's go.”

“You pick him up. You a strong black woman.”

“Nigga, just pick him up and let's go.” I knew Killmonger had something in store for T'Challa, but I didn't know exactly what that something was. Torture? Humiliation? All lanes lead to death.

If my battle with T'Challa today was any indication, things weren't going to be easy.

 


	6. Die Lit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killmonger always needs something from Othello.

Acid spewed against skin, broiling it. Claws sank deeply into my opponent's eyes and reached into the depths of their skull. With a crack, his head split open like a watermelon at a Gallagher performance. He collapsed to the ground, dead, blood flowing from his head like a river.

Red letters dripped down the television screen, signaling my victory.

“ _Reptile wins,”_ the dark voice echoed throughout the penthouse. _“Fatality!”_

I swung my head Erik's direction and I couldn't help but smile at his palpable frustration. He was a sore loser and I took delight into making him feel small – even if I was over something as petty as Mortal Kombat.

“Yo, forreal...” he sighed. I could hear the plastic of his controller crack in his hand before he chucked it across the bedroom all the way over to the opposite end of where we were. “Fuck this game.”

Seeing him like this, jaw tense, shoulders bunched, ashamed and defeated, I had no choice but to be ungracious and laugh. Erik naturally held an air of arrogance and regality, seeing him without something smart to say was satisfying. His nose was gonna get rubbed in a slice of humble pie.

“Make sure you remember this moment. Take a picture in ya brain and save it there. I can tap that ass in real life _and_ on the sticks. Reptile ain't even my main.” I swirled my finger in his face and could only laugh more when he slapped it away. “Let me hear you say it. Say, Othello's the goat.”

“You know, I don't mind losing all of a sudden. I got to see you smile.”

“Doesn't count.”

“Yeah it does.”

“Nope.”

“Mhm.” He lifted himself off his bed and walked to the panoramic window leading onto a balcony. With a tilt of his chin, he beckoned me forward. “Follow me.”

I don't know why I listened to him without putting up a fight. Taking orders wasn't my style, but for some reason I indulged. I stepped onto the spacious balcony and was greeting by the ocean breeze roll through my hair. Erik sat on the balcony's edge, tapping the space beside him with his palm as an invite for me to join him.

“Look at that,” he marveled at the calm glow of night casting away day. Out along on the horizon, a crimson Sun was falling behind a cobalt ocean. A few isolated stars were popping from their cocoon and dimly etched the sky. Drawing in a breath, Erik basked in the warm glow of the evening. “You like sunsets?”

“Sure.”

“Ain't really paid 'em no attention?”

“No, I have. Seen them all over the world. It's just that... not much takes away my breath anymore.”

“Damn, that's fucked up.”

“It's life.”

“It ain't gotta be yours,” he said. “When I was a kid, I used to go up to the roof of whatever foster care building I was in at the time and try to catch it. Thought that maybe if I saw one at the right moment my pops would come back. Little kid shit, you know?”

“I didn't know you were a kid of the system.” I should've guessed. “We got something in common after all.”

Through the corner of his eye, he watched me. “Word?”

I nodded. Never knowing my birth parents or having a family of my own is what made me who I was. “Uncle Phil and Aunt Viv raised me.”

“Light-skinned or dark-skinned Viv?”

“Whatchu think? Don't ask me nothing stupid like that again.” My hand flew to my mouth once I caught myself laughing. “Shit.”

“Twice in one day.” He pulled his teeth into a sparkling grin. “Both were beautiful.”

“Lucky you.”

“I ain't the only lucky one. You think I watch the sunset with just anybody? Nah. But there's something about you Othello, no bullshit.” He mulled over his words before finally turning my way. “Come to Wakanda with me.”

“What?” He didn't bother to warm me up to the idea, to ease me into the notion, nothing. “No.”

“My plans ain't finished.”

“It ain't my fault you changed up last minute and decided to keep the King of Wakanda hogtied in ya bathtub.”

“I need you,” he said. “I don't trust anyone in Wakanda. They a bunch of dick riders.”

“You trust me?”

“No, but you're the first person in line if I had to start. That's gotta amount to something,” he said. He tried a different tactic once he saw that I was dead set in my ways.

I blinked. “You sound stupid.”

“You're a warrior and I got about thirty bald bitches out there who can't stand me. I need you. Please. What you got planned that's so important?”

It didn't matter what I had planned or what I didn't have planned. I wanted an out - to try and live a normal life as corny as that was. My life had been filled with rage and anger for as long as I could remember. There was an inferno in my chest and I breathed fire. I wanted to extinguish it.

“I want peace of mind, Erik.”

“Then let me show you a sunset there.”

He had an answer for everything. Next he'd tell me he could shit gold. “Erik-”

“You said you've seen sunsets everywhere, but I know for a fact you haven't seen a Wakandan one.”

“And you have?”

“Last thing I saw before I died.”

“I don't know what kind of drugs you on, but you don't look dead to me,” I said. “You know some shit I don't know?”

“Right hand on the bible, Othello, I got the keys.” He took me by the hand and squeezed it tightly. “Let me show you something that'll take your breath away.”

 


End file.
